


A Fair Trade

by Clara_de_Morra



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, I don't know when this takes place, a bit of banter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 02:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_de_Morra/pseuds/Clara_de_Morra
Summary: “I give you the honor of the first piece of the baklava,before supper, no less.  In exchange… tell me a story.”“Astory?” He nearly snorts. “You couldn’t be so easily sated with just a story.”





	1. Chapter 1

_Baklava: A traditional Near Eastern pastry made of a sweetened paste of chopped nuts and honey sandwiched between layers of thin unleavened dough._

The distinct smell of something baking stirs Emet-Selch awake.

He had not the slightest inkling of the time, but it felt early enough to at least be irritating to him. Must these sundered vestiges begin their days so early? Naught but trouble came from early-risers and their mischief, even if it was…

…well, whatever it is, it smells sweet. And something that definitely includes a fine honey.

He groans as he rises from his rather uncomfortable place upon the too-small sofa, stretching his neck and arms and legs, feeling joints popping back into place after bells of not-so-restful slumbering. He rounds the corner almost directly into the kitchen, just in time to see a brunette head of hair pop up from in front of the oven, a pair of mitts on her hands holding a large round pan of… something.

He smirks.

“Really now, Miss Bell, you need not have made all this just for me.”

“It’s not _just_ for you, it’s for after supper.”

He blinks.

“I was only jesting, you realize.”

She sets it on the stove-top to cool, pulling her oven mitts off and placing them neatly back into the drawer. He yawns unceremoniously.

“What time is it?”

She glances out the window.

“Just past midday.”

So not as early as he was thinking.

“And you are already preparing for supper? Are you a housewife, or an adventurer?”

“I am both, thank you. I enjoy baking.”

“And what have you made for us today?”

He finds his hand creeping towards the cooling pan…

“Baklava. And it’s for _after_ supper, I’ll have you remember.”

He glances down to see a wooden spoon tapping the top of his gloved hand as a warning. He withdraws his hand with a smirk and a narrowed gaze.

“Nothing slips by you, it seems.”

“I’ve lived and traveled with Mathias for quite a while. I’ve had plenty of practice catching would-be thieves.”

His smirk transforms into what could nearly be a cheeky grin.

“I can only imagine.”

She retrieves a fine knife as he speaks, carefully cutting the baklava into smaller pieces with an almost uncanny precision and symmetry, the delicate, flaky crust of the pastry crunching gently beneath the blade.

“How about this…” She begins.

“Oh?”

“I give you the honor of the first piece of the baklava, _before supper_, no less. In exchange… tell me a story.”

“A _story?_” He nearly snorts. “You couldn’t be so easily sated with just a story.”

“Tell me about Amaurot.”

He pauses.

“I would consider that a fair trade for the honors of first bite.”

His lips set in a line before he approaches the dining table, pulling a chair out, and seating himself.

“You drive a hard bargain, my dear. Very well.”

Before she’s able to sit in the chair opposite, he tuts.

“The baklava first, if you would be so kind. I’ve had no promise that you will uphold your end of the bargain when the time comes.”

Almost as if issuing a challenge, she sits anyway, eyes locked on his face.

“But how do I know you’ll really uphold your end when you get it?”

He smirks.

“I tell naught but the truth. You, on the other hand…” He trails off, letting her finish his thought in her mind.

She huffs, lips pushing out in a small pout and cheeks puffing up subtly, and he nearly laughs aloud.

“Are you a tiny child? None of that now.”

Sulking, she rises rather inelegantly from her seat and plods back to the oven to retrieve a piece.

“And it had better be one of the innermost pieces.” He calls after her. “It simply won’t do to have any of the outer edges.”

He hears her huff again, and his lips curl into victorious smirk as he notes the subtle hunching of her shoulders as she grudgingly accepts defeat. She brings the coveted central piece back to the table, resting delicately upon a clean napkin, and he nearly questions whether or not she and her beloved could afford the apparent luxury of platters and cutlery, though a glance at the lacquered wood cabinet with delicate ceramic pieces says otherwise.

“Are you unable to even present it on a dish? Without even silverware?”

“I’m not wasting those on something you will finish in a _bite._”

“You wound me, my dear. Am I not worth the effort to impress?”

“Not in the slightest.” She states flatly.

He smirks again at the almost instantaneous reply.

“I will admit, a most refreshing answer. Go on, then. What do you wish to know of Amaurot?”

She goes silent for a moment.

“What was it like?”

“‘It’? You will have to be a bit more specific than that.”

“Anything. Everything. The people, the buildings, life, hobbies—”

“Yes, yes, alright.”

He waves her off, but begins speaking, nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what have you done for us this eve?”
> 
> “Fried mahi-mahi fish fillets with lemon.”
> 
> “How delightful. Shall we repeat our last meeting where homemade sustenance was involved?”
> 
> “Where you receive part of said homemade sustenance in exchange for telling me of the past? I don’t see why not.”

_Pan-fried Mahi-Mahi: Fillets of fresh mahi-mahi covered in a light blanket of flour and fried in oil._

_A sprinkle of this, a dash of that…_

The sizzle of oil in the pan and the mouth-watering smell of a homemade supper still cooking, and both without warning but as if on cue, a low vibration pulses within the room and dark aether blooms mere fulms away from the culinarian as the Ascian steps out of the portal.

Her focus remains on the pan on the stove in front of her as she expertly retrieves a spatula from a nearby jar of utensils, deftly flipping each fillet to their unfried sides in a matter of moments.

Emet-Selch shrugs lightly, his brow furrowed.

“Not even a ‘hello, good day, how are you’? You wound me, my dear. I thought us friends.”

“You’ll get your ‘hello, how are you’ in a moment, Emet-Selch. Frying fish needs no small amount of finesse and focus.”

He nearly groans.

“Alliteration and my feelings towards it notwithstanding, there is naught quite like a homemade meal at the end of a long and fruitful day of hard work.”

She risks a glance back at him as she takes the pan off the stove, an eyebrow raised, but his expression remains neutral.

“…I refuse to ask what you’ve done that could be considered ‘hard work’.”

“You will get an answer either way: nothing that you need to concern yourself with.”

She frowns as his lips curl into a smirk.

“You know that I tell naught but the truth, my dear.”

His gaze lingers around the suite.

“And where is your beloved?”

She fetches a sun lemon from the icebox, rinsing it briefly in the sink, and placing it carefully upon the wooden cutting board nearby.

“Mathias is currently out—”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“—finishing up our errands.” She takes the pan in one hand and the spatula in the other, gently pushing the utensil beneath the fish and lifting it from the pan to a nearby large plate. “He wished to stop by the armorer, and since it was getting so late, I returned home to prepare supper. He should be home soon.”

Withdrawing a fine-edged knife from the wooden block upon the counter, she cuts the lemon in half, setting one half aside to carve thin slices from the other.

“What _exciting_ lives the two of you lead. Running errands for yourselves and others.”

Her mouth quirks slightly as she sets about garnishing the fillets.

“We do what we can.”

A moderate-sized fillet is moved to a smaller plate and garnished further with sprigs of parsley.

“And what have you done for us this eve?”

“Fried mahi-mahi fish fillets with lemon.”

“How delightful. Shall we repeat our last meeting where homemade sustenance was involved?”

“Where you receive part of said homemade sustenance in exchange for telling me of the past? I don’t see why not.”

His grin broadens.

“Wonderful.”

He seats himself at the head of the long table, leaning back in his chair and watching her expectantly.

“And do remember the silverware this time, my dear. It wouldn’t do to have to consume such a meal as last time and dirty my gloves. Why, the fabric still smells of honey.”

Her eyes widen.

“It does not!”

He barks a laugh.

“Have I not told you before that everything I’ve said was the truth? It is not as strong as that day, no, but it still lingers.”

She takes her time picking out silverware, setting the piece of the table before him as he casually watches, lifting not so much as a finger in an effort to make her task any easier. She retreats briefly to the stove, lifting a garnished plate and setting it neatly in front of him.

She circles around and takes a seat to his right as he picks up the knife and fork, spearing one end of the fillet as the crisp coating crunches subtly beneath the knife. He takes a bite, chewing once, twice, then swallowing, his face neutral.

“Well, it is certainly no imperial banquet, but it’s not without its charm. I would go so far as to call it ‘quaint’, or perhaps ‘rustic’. But yes, same as before. What story would you have me regale you with today in exchange?”

“You said at the Ladder that when the world was whole, you had friends, family, and loves. Would you tell me about them?”

He is silent for a moment as he takes another bite of fish, savoring for a moment before swallowing.

“…in Amaurot dwelt my dearest friends and I. Their names were Hythlodaeus, Apollo, and Persephone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to the ever-enabling [ Book Club](https://discord.gg/dBXddpZ). <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Supper’s not ready yet, Emet-Selch.”
> 
> Emet-Selch places a gloved hand to his chest, feigning shock, as he steps out of the portal.
> 
> “Miss Bell, my dear, I would never simply visit you for only your culinary skills, charmingly plebeian as they may be.”

_Chilled Popoto Soup: A refreshing soup made by blending popoto, leek, and sweet cream to a smooth consistency._

_&_

_Walnut Bread: A soft white bread filled with fragrant walnuts._

The wall-mounted chronometer ticks over to the sixth bell of the evening and chimes pleasantly, and she feels it before she sees it.

“Supper’s not ready yet, Emet-Selch.”

Emet-Selch places a gloved hand to his chest, feigning shock, as he steps out of the portal.

“Miss Bell, my dear, I would _never_ simply visit you for only your culinary skills, charmingly plebeian as they may be.”

With a roll of her eyes, she ignores his commentary entirely as she uncovers the pot that bubbles steadily upon the stove, a cup of sweet cream in one hand. She pours slowly and deliberately, measuring the amount by eye as she does before setting it back on the countertop and fetching a large wooden stirring spoon. She stirs the contents once, twice, thrice, exchanges the larger spoon for a smaller one, and samples the taste. Her brow furrows gently, and she pours a touch more of the sweet cream into the pot, stirring once more.

“You know, if my cooking displeases you so, you are more than welcome to leave any time you wish.”

She grasps the handle of the oven door and tugs, the gentle scent of baking bread wafting from the opening and saturating the entire suite with the aroma of walnuts.

“Do not mistake my wording for disapproval, my dear.” He shrugs. “But if you require clarification, I suppose I can accommodate you: compared to the cuisine of Garlemald and the decadence of the royal palace, your take on dishes is refreshingly simplistic.”

She pulls on a pair of thick mitts and removes the bread pan from the oven, frowning.

“Full glad am I that you _approve._”

“Think nothing of it.” He waves her off. “And do take care to not let your soup burn.”

Her lips push out in a subtle pout, but she turns her attentions back to the stove, setting about the process of removing the bread from the pan for it to cool in time for supper.

He turns upon his heel and seats himself at the table, angling the chair just so to watch her work, wordlessly crossing his legs with his hands folded upon his lap.

“You know, my dear, that out of your beloved’s merry group of boon companions, you were the only one that did not reject my suggestion for cooperation outright.”

She removes the pot from the heat, stirring the soup a few more times before covering it again before bracing herself and hefting the pot up with some effort to carry it to the icebox.

“Why don’t _you_ tell me a story for once? Do take a seat; I won’t even ask for supper this time around.”

She uprights herself, tugging the mitts off and placing them back within the drawer before following his recommendation.

“I… don’t really have any stories to tell.”

“Come now, I know that simply isn’t true. You are an _adventurer_, my dear; travelling the realm, offering aid and succor to those in need. You are wed to the greatest hero of the Source, seven times rejoined, and yet you still give aid to the common man.”

“Then mayhap you should ask him for a story.”

“I am asking _you._”

“I have no exciting tales to tell, Emet-Selch. Besides, I much prefer listening.”

He leans back in the chair, lips pressing into a thin line as he shrugs.

“Have it your way, then. What would you like to hear about this day?”

She places her chin in her hands, considering.

“Is there anything that _you_ would like to talk about?”

“My dear, that is not how our exchange works.”

“Why not?”

“For one, if I myself must come up with the subject matter, then I will require—”

“Supper should be ready within a bell or two. The soup only needs to chill.”

“I suppose that will suffice, since you are _offering_.”

“Until then, you are welcome to talk about what you like.”

He adjusts himself in the chair, uncrossing and re-crossing his legs before heaving a small sigh.

“‘To talk about what I like’? I hope you are aware that you are only creating difficulties for yourself.”

She only beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to the ever-enabling [ Book Club](https://discord.gg/dBXddpZ). <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably the last chapter I'll do for this.
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3

_Honey Muffin: A traditional Midlander cake made with a generous portion of honey._

She is carefully pouring ingredients into glass dishes when he emerges from the dark aether that blooms in her kitchen, but she does not look up from her tablespoons and measuring cups as he strides slowly towards her, lips set in a hard line and brow furrowed.

She glances back to the recipe card upon the counter, measuring and pouring sugar into the last of the empty bowls.

“Well, my dear, here I am. I suppose you’ll be explaining the process, yes?”

She finishes her measurements and turns towards him with a smile as she fetches an apron from a hook nearby and offers it to him. His jaw tightens subtly as he accepts it.

“We’ll start with something simple. I have here the ingredients for—”

“Don’t you _dare_.”

He slips the looped strap over his head as she yanks her own apron on, appearing almost hurt at his sudden outburst.

“…honey muffins?”

“Praise Zodiark, I thought you might say cookies.”

He ties the loose strips into a neat knot at his back as she stands on tiptoes to reach a pair of metal mixing bowls above the sink, fingers stretching as far as they can to scoot them closer.

…when the tall man easily reaches over her, lifting them from the shelf and placing them into her hands.

“All you had to do was _ask_, my dear. I am not so cruel as that, to leave you to struggle with the task while I watch on.”

“You certainly had no qualms about it as you sat and watched before.”

“Clearly you were not struggling then.”

She wags her finger.

“Ah ah, none of that now. You’re here to learn something, remember?”

“If _you_ can teach me something new, I will _gladly_ admit I misjudged you and your merry band of boon companions.”

“First…” She begins, reading from the recipe. “…you’ll need to put the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt into the bigger bowl and mix.”

She looks up at him expectantly.

“What, you want _me_ to do it?”

“That was the agreement.”

“It was merely _implied_, not stated for fact.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“You are one to talk. ‘Tis your specialty, not mine.”

“You _agreed_ to it, Emet-Selch.”

“_Oh_, the use of my full title. I _am_ in trouble now.”

She levels a pointed look at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Very well, then. I suppose I can humor you, just this once.”

Her gaze softens almost instantly, and she beams.

“Good! Let’s get to work!”

He glances to the countertop, selecting each of the ingredients she listed off and dumping them unceremoniously one after another into the larger of the two bowls. A glint in the corner of his eye makes him turn to see her offering a large spoon for mixing.

“Once those are mixed together, you’ll combine the egg, milk, honey, and butter in the smaller bowl.”

She kneels down, opening a low cabinet to pull out a baking pan and sets it upon the counter.

“Then once those are mixed, slowly pour in the wet ingredients into the dry and mix those.”

She makes to search the cabinet again, but pauses before glancing up at the tall man.

He glances back, raising an eyebrow.

“…yes?”

“…can you please…”

He smirks.

“What was that, my dear? Mumbling is unbecoming of you, you know.”

“…can you please… fetch the cooking oil for me? It’s… above the stove.”

His smirk only seems to widen as he reaches above, easily finding the requested bottle before offering it to her.

“See, now, was that so difficult? You would be amazed at what can be accomplished with a ‘please’ and a ‘thank you’.”

She snatches it from him with a pout.

“_I_ am not the one making things difficult, _thank you_.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Neither am I, my dear.”

She huffs and he grins broadly to himself as he begins to mix the ingredients together, and she sets about greasing the pan, ignoring him entirely.

“No need for _pouting_. ‘Tis only a simple statement.”

“Are you here for me to teach you something new, or are you just going to make jabs at me the entire time?”

“Why not _both_, my dear?”

She huffs again and he is naught but smirks.

“As I said, there is no need for pouting. Come now: chin up. And do take care to grease the baking pan fully. It wouldn’t do to have the treats stick to the metal.”

She narrows her gaze at him and continues, but says nothing.

“Oh, the cold shoulder. You wound me.”

She turns her nose up, but she shifts when the door behind them opens, then clicks shut.

“I’m home.”

Mathias bends over to remove his boots, leaving them by the door at the edge of the mat.

“Welcome home! You’re earlier than I thought you would be. What did Ser Arkwright have you help him with?”

The Ascian returns to the task at hand, forcing the sound of the mixing ingredients to drown out the chatter of the pair behind him.

_Ah, mortals. Ever so fixated upon the here and now._

Almost automatically, he begins filling the cups in the pan with the mixture, and…

“_Ah!_ Not that much!”

He jerks his hand back at her sudden squeak, but a glob of the mixture is catapulted from the spoon to splat onto his otherwise-pristine apron.

“Oh. What a shame.”

“…you did that on purpose.”

“Now, now, my dear; I assure you that it was, in fact, not on purpose. You merely surprised me.”

Mathias disguises a laugh most subtly with a cough as his beloved very nearly stomps over to the Ascian over a wasted bit of muffin mixture.

“You need to be _careful_ when you spoon it into the cups. It should be about three-quarters full, so when it comes out of the oven, it has a delightfully domed top.”

He does as instructed, and cup after cup of the pan is filled, one after another. He searches through the handful of drawers within his reach and pulls an oven mitt from its place, slipping it on and opening the oven’s door. She claps her hands together with a broad smile as he places the pan in the oven.

“I’m proud of you for taking the initiative! They need to stay in for ten minutes.”

Mathias moves to their shared bedroom and sets about changing clothes while his beloved cranes her neck to look at the clock, making note of the time.

“Now we just need to wait.”

The Ascian makes his way to the seat at the head of the table, taking a seat and leveling his gaze at the girl as she begins wiping down the counters and setting bowls and dishes into the sink to soak in warm water.

“Very tidy of you.”

“I don’t want my dishes to get ruined by way of idleness. If anything dries on them, it makes it that much more difficult to get them cleaned.”

Her beloved returns to the dining area, dragging his feet a bit, already in his sleeping clothes. Emet-Selch raises an eyebrow at the other man incredulously, and Mathias frowns in return before he nearly flops only the loveseat, propping a throw pillow behind his neck.

“Perhaps I will have better luck with you, hero. Your beloved claims that she has… how did you put it, my dear?” He glances over to the girl with a smirk. “‘No exciting tales to tell’?”

She heaves a huff of frustration at his remembrance of her words, her entire form stiffening as she scrubs the countertop a little harder. The Ascian leans forward, resting his chin upon his knuckles.

“Surely _you_ must have some exciting stories to regale me with.”

Mathias’ brow furrows somewhat, his face scrunching subtly.

“…do not tell me that you cannot think of any.”

“…nothing comes to mind.”

“Then regale me the story of how you two met.”

A story he is sure he’s heard, and witnessed, a thousand-thousand times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to the ever-enabling [ Book Club](https://discord.gg/dBXddpZ). <3

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the ever-enabling [ Book Club](https://discord.gg/dBXddpZ). <3


End file.
